Song Bird
by Comidia Del Arte
Summary: Wren was a good person, plain and simple. It was hard to be that way in a place like Gotham, but somehow she managed. Sometimes being the good person threw you into a world of shit. On one bad day, Wren learns it's best to not call the cops on the Joker.
1. The Song Bird

2o'clock and all was well, 2o'clock and Wren Durrant locked up her window at the bank and went to lunch. "Enjoy your lunch Wren!"

Glancing up at her coworkers, the teller nodded and headed into the breakroom. With the swipe of her e-card, the door popped open. Entering, Wren turned to make sure it had locked behind her. The promise of leftover mac and cheese causing her stomach to roar. Peeling off her blazer, revealing a few tasteful bits of ink, she threw it over the back of the corner chair. Wren began to muck around in the fridge. Humming happily when she pulled out her lunch. Tossing it into the microwave, she collapsed into the worn out couch and grabbed her book. "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" by Stieg Larson. All in all, Wren was set for a normal hour long lunch break. The only exciting things happening, were taking place in her book.

Her peace was brought to grinding halt at the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Dropping her book, Wren stared at the security footage playing over the breakroom monitor. For a moment, it flashed to the many rooms and offices, showing her coworkers cowering on the floor. The set was muted, but Wren could hear the terrified shrieks of clients and coworkers in the lobby. She'd only had this job for 2 years, the fact that she went that long in the banking industry of Gotham without going through a robbery, was a miracle. Suppose she was due for the experience. Licking her lips, Wren watched as her coworkers were rounded up and forced to sit at the center of the lobby. 5 goons wearing clown masks had guns on them. Judging by the lack of the alarm, no one had been able to press their buttons.

Digging for her cell phone, Wren dialed 911. Doing her best to remain calm. After all, she had trained for this…. Sort of.

Outside the breakroom, the robbers were doing a headcount of the bank workers. "Shit!"

They all stiffened "What!?"

The head goon counted again, and paled beneath his mask "We're missing one!"

The group went into a frenzy of panic. "They all do their lunches by 2pm, they're all supposed to be here. The fuck!?"

Footsteps sounded from the entrance to the bank. They crossed the lobby and came to standstill at the edge of the hostage circle. "How I despise mistakes…"

The hostages collectively froze, of all the rotten luck. Of all the Rogues to rob this bank, it had to be the Joker. "Which one is missing?"

From behind him, came a rather tall and muscled figure. He was looking through his cell phone. "We're missing a teller, she doesn't go off sight for lunch, so she's here, somewhere…"

Raising a non-existent eyebrow, the Joker surveyed the hostages until his cut glass eyes locked on the manager. "Aw, Mr. Napoli, perhaps you can tell me where you missing charge is?"

The manager shuddered but did his best to put on a brave face. "I sent Ms. Durrant home early this afternoon, she came in sick."

Chuckling, Joker stepped over a few of the hunched over hostages and stared at the manager "My Mr. Napoli, what a loyal employee you have…. Sadly…."

He lashed out and grabbed the man by the tie and yanked him forward "I don't swallow bullshit so easily. Now, where has Ms. Durrant gotten too?"

Sirens began to sound outside the bank, and Joker released his victim. "Someone called the cops…."

Glancing towards the door that led to one of the many secure parts of the bank, Joker sneered. "Did you fuckers think to check the employee lounge?!"

The goon froze. Another gunshot, and their leader keeled over. Bleeding all over the hardwood floors. "Absolutely useless! The rest of you, deal with that!"

Grabbing the manager, Joker shoved him towards the locked door. "Common Mr. Napoli, introduce me to Ms. Durrant.

Wren had just jammed the door of supply closet, locking herself inside, as Joker and Mr. Napoli entered the breakroom. The clown shoved her boss into the corner chair, his eyes swiveling around, like a predator. Pressing a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing, she kept low and quiet. Watching as Joker picked up her book and flipped through it. Pausing at where she had written her name in the flap of the paperback. "Wren Durrant."

His voice sent a shiver down her spine, and her fingernails dug into the cheeks in an attempt to remain quiet. Joker giggling and set the book down. He knew she was in here, at this point it was just a matter of finding her. Wren's blood froze as the clown began to sing.

Little bird, little bird  
Fly through my window  
Little bird, little bird  
Fly through my window  
Little bird, little bird  
Fly through my window  
Find molasses candy….

He took to humming the tune as he walked around "Oh Mr. Napoli, your little bird is shy."

Walking into the bathrooms and into the some of the classrooms, he sighed. "As much as I love games…. I don't have time for them."

Coming back into the breakroom, Joker paused and looked directly at the storage closet. His already present smile, widened, causing the light from the window to reflect on his silver capped teeth. Stepping towards the door, he called "Come out little bird…."

Wren stepped back, stumbling at she did. He wrapped his knuckles on the door. "Do I scare you, little bird."

His words came out as a low growl. "Come out little bird…"

He could see her through the crack, the sliver of light from the room revealing her doughy brown eyes. "Come out, promise I won't bite."

Her hands were shaking now, and like a child she shook her head. Rolling his eyes Joker stepped back. "I've had my fun song bird, but you're boring me, now come out!"

He extracted his customized colt and took aim at Mr. Napoli. "Get your ass out here song bird, or I shoot your boss!"


	2. Noble

Wren stared at the gun, nervous habit causing her lick her lips. Joker stared into the closet, while still managing to keep aim on the boss's head. Taking a deep shaking breath, the teller gave the door a sharp kick, unjamming it. Keeping her hands up, she exited her hiding place. "Ma'am! "Ma'am the police are there, are you alright?"

Shaking his head, Joker extended his free hand for the cellphone she had hidden in her pocket. Wren glanced at her boss, only acting when he nodded his head. Taking her phone out, she handed it over. Joker grabbed it, giggling as he did so. "Song bird is busy now, please leave a message after the tone."

Dropping it on the ground, he took aim and shot. Leaving behind a miniature crater, and bits of plastic and metal. Doing her best to remain calm, Wren kept her hands up, trying to divert attention away from her boss. "My, my. We've got a bit of trouble maker on our hands."

Lowering his gun, Joker ambled around her. Observing her shaking hands, her deathly pale skin, and bit of cold sweat misting across her forehead. She was petrified of him, despite all of this she managed to remain upright and capable. Rather impressive. "How's it that you ended up working for the system, song bird?"

She focused on the floor, not sure if she was capable of actually looking this nutcase in the eye. Even doing that, Wren couldn't find her voice in order to answer his question. Instead, she opted for silence. That didn't seem to appease Joker in the slightest. He pressed his gun under her chin and forced her to look at him. It burned a little, the heat remnant of him shooting her phone. Tears slicked down her cheeks, causing her mascara to run. After several deep breaths, Wren muttered. "Pays good, good benefits, and bank holidays off."

Joker rolled his eyes. "Such a boring answer."

Wren eyed the gun. "I'm not exciting, I'm sorry."

Pulling the gun away, Joker pouted. "Now I don't believe that. Takes a lot of… Mmm, cohunes to do what ya did."

Wren wasn't quite sure how to answer that, she just did what she was trained to do. Of course, taking a few liberties. Especially when she saw Joker on the monitor. "Boss!"

Joker looked over his shoulder, clearly annoyed "What!?"

His head goon stood in the doorway. "We've got everything in place…"

The clown giggled excitedly. "Those Italian fucks won't know their asses from their mouths after this…"

He followed the hulking mass of goon out the door. "It's been fun song bird."

Before she could stop him, the clown pulled his gun and took aim at her boss's head. Wren shrieked and threw her arm in front of the gun, the bullet catching the inner bend of her elbow. Screaming in agony, the teller collapsed and began writhing in the blood that was pooling on the floor. Joker went into a fit of hysterics. "Nobility! Aren't you a fun one!"

The pain was unbearable, it felt like her arm had been shredded by the bullet. The tears were in full force as she did her best to keep from screaming. Mr. Napoli grabbed her jacket and start to put pressure on the wound. When Wren looked at the doorway to the breakroom, the Joker and his goon were gone.


	3. Perdition

3 weeks later:

She was in the other room when her cell phone went off. Glancing up from browsing the internet, Wren got up and went to grab it. Eyeing the caller ID on the screen, she groaned, yet another unfamiliar number. Biting her lip, she swiped up to accept the call. Placing it to her ear she muttered "Hello?"

The response was over bubbly and annoyingly familiar "Wren Durrant?"

Taking a deep breath, Wren decided to play polite "Speaking?"

"This is Caroline Espinoza for Gotham news…"

Rubbing her eyes, Wren put the phone on speaker and fell back onto her couch. "Like I said to your producer Ms. Espinoza, I'm not doing interviews."

She knew this wouldn't sate the ravenous newscaster. "But Ms. Durrant, the city is curious about what happened between you and the Joker."

"If you want details, contact HR at Gotham National Bank."

"They only said that you took a bullet for your boss. Which, I must say is incredible."

Eyeing her arm and the thorough amount of bandages, Wren smirked "My arm begs to differ."

The newscaster took this as an in "Were you scared?"

This wasn't anything she hadn't told over newscasters that had called her over the last month "Yes, everyone was. Goodbye Ms. Espinoza, don't call again. I'm still on medical leave and I'd like to spend that time sleeping and eating junk food."

With that, she shut her phone off and reclined into the sofa. "Should have put your jacket over your head when you had the chance, Wren. But no, you had to keep the pressure on so you wouldn't bleed out."

Reaching towards the table with her good arm, she wrangled herself a handful of chips and shoved them into her mouth. The alarm on her cell went off, she had to be downtown in an hour for work mandated therapy. HR mentioned being concerned about the mental health of their staff, so everyone, especially Wren, had been required to see a therapist for at least couple months.

Groaning, Wren forced herself to get up. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to start therapy in her lounge wear. Eyeing her cheeto dusted sweatpants and torn up tank top, she huffed. Going into her room, Wren started the lengthy process of putting on fresh clothes. Her injury, a minor hindrance. The Doctor mentioned that she would be sore even after it healed. Eyeing the bandage, Wren gently pulled on a fresh shirt. It had a graphic on it, depicting a raven picking around the corpse of a smiling woman. Above the image were the words "Perdition."

Looking herself over in the mirror, Wren grabbed her sweatshirt and zipped it up. Despite it being her band, it was probably not the best therapy wear. Even if she did have gig right after. Pulling on a pair of paint covered jeans, and heeled ankle boots. Wren grabbed her purse and left. It would take 30 minutes to get across town, she was hoping that the therapist would be able to see her early. At the very least, she hoped for a short session. Her days off were so much easier when they weren't devoted to proving her sanity after being held at point and shot by the Joker.

Throwing her hood over her head, she went towards the window of her apartment. Preferring the precarious and rickety fire escape to facing the onslaught of reporters that had taken to darkening her doorstep. Grabbing her bag off the couch, she stepped out and slowly descended. Stopping, only to throw down the rolled up ladder. Once it hit the ground, Wren climbed down and walked to her car, a junker of a thing, pulled from a road side ditch just outside of Gotham. The dealership fixed it up and let it go for a steal.

After jiggling her key in the lock, and giving handle a solid kick, the door sprung open. Smirking, Wren threw her bag in and started the car. Doing her best to maneuver out of the alley. Ever since she came home from the hospital, Wren had been forced to hide her car away. Otherwise, the reporters would stake it out and wait for her. Honestly, the people of Gotham had an incredibly unhealthy obsession with the Joker. That hadn't really been a subject of thought to Wren in the past, but now that it extended to her, she found the celebrity of the clown ungodly annoying.

Merging with traffic, she sighed. Maybe the calls and stalking by the reporters would die down once Joker robbed another bank and shot another teller. Seemed a bit cruel, to think this way, but Gotham was a cruel city. Her arm gave a twinge, and Wren groaned. Perhaps the universe had decided to administer a little pain, as punishment in her desire for the misfortune of another. That in mind, she muttered an apology. Either way, Wren was hopeful that the media frenzy would die down, and she would fade into the background like the rest of the Joker's cannon fodder.


	4. Dr Sharpe

Wren passed the grueling 30 minute drive by flicking through the radio, trying to find a bit of decent music to soothe her before tangling with the therapist. After 5 minutes, she found a station playing some AC/DC, Shoot to Thrill. Her band did a passable cover of the song, seemed appropriate to listen to it. Nodding her head to the beat, Wren sped up and passed the car in front of her. Man, she hoped that her session would go short, work mandated therapy was a fucking joke. Living in Gotham made the symptoms of PTSD in regards to bank robbery seem like every day behavior. Wren lived with a sense of fear, she was hyper alert, especially a work. The symptoms were there long before the cause. At this point, it was a way of life, a means to continuing existing, there was nothing to 'shrink.'

At long last, she pulled up alongside the office building where her weekly session had been held. Once she fed the meter, Wren kicked the door to her car closed. Not bothering to lock it, this neighborhood was nice. Why steal her piece of junk when there was a Porsche Spyder a couple cars down? Only a moron would choose a hot dog over filet mignon. Noticing the door hadn't shut all the way, Wren gave the car another nudge, earning a couple looks from the nicely dressed business people. On most weekdays, she would have easily blended with them, dressed in work casual, sporting her gold Gotham National Bank name tag, hair (braids and all) yanked up into a headache inducing bun. Alas, she wasn't on the clock, so Wren stood out in her jeans, relaxed hair, and heavier than usual eyeliner. Giving the onlookers a friendly but sarcastic wave, she straightened her sweatshirt and walked towards the office building.

When she got into the elevator, Wren greeted the door man "Hey Frank."

He was an older guy, and had only recently been known to her by name. Before that, she had been mentally referring to him as 'Broom Stache Guy.' Frank leaned in and hit the 12th floor button. "Therapy, Ms. Durrant?"

Nodding, she leaned against the back all of the elevator "Unfortunately."

He chuckled and stepped back. "Only a few more weeks to go."

Wren groaned "An eternity if you ask me."

The doors closed before Frank could respond. Sighing, Wren pressed her head against the cool metal wall of the elevator, counting the 'dings' that sounded with every floor. On the 12th ding, she opened her eyes and stepped out. At the end of the hall there was fog white glass door, the words 'Doctor Sharpe' were printed in black lettering right onto the glass. Wren opened the door and checked herself in on the iPad that had been screwed onto the desk, where a secretary would sit. "Welcome, Wren Durrant, Dr. Sharpe will be ready in 1 minute."

The voice was bright and cheery, yet hollow, a failed attempt to sound alive. Shuddering, she took a seat and waited. The door to the Doctor's office opened soon after. When Wren met Sharpe, her first impression was blond. The guy had white blond hair that he slicked back, and it was stupid pale, all pulled together by a pair of slate grey eyes. The guy was ethereal, shit, he'd look like a damn elf if he had pointed ears. "Now, Jeffery, I want to pick up a copy of, 'Letters Written from Sweden, Norway, and Denmark', I think it will give you some perspective on the female psyche. Try to understand the struggles that women face, that might temper some of your violent thoughts to them."

So being sexist was a psychological condition now? Suppose anything was treatable mental condition if you waved enough money at the right people. Jeffery grumbled and straightened his tie, only stopping when he noticed Wren. Her limbs seized a little, the look he gave her was nothing but pure revulsion and hatred. If looks could kill, she'd be a pile of ashes in her chair. All Jeffery needed was a reason. "Good afternoon miss."

The greeting was accompanied by teeth grinding and anger. Wren didn't even know the asshole, but being in front of him was reason enough. She didn't take her eyes off him until the door closed. Not looking up, she commented "That guy's gonna kill someone…"

Dr. Sharpe finally acknowledged her "What makes you say that?"

Wren let out the breath she was holding "Animal instinct, after you interact with someone like the Joker, you get a sense for it."

Sharpe seemed to see this as an in "Do you see the Joker in everyone?"

Standing up, she went into the office. "I don't see him in anyone, I've just learned what a killer looks like."

She'd made a mistake, mention the Joker, and the entire session was gonna revolve around the clown. Not to mention the fact, it would make the entire thing run longer than set. Sharpe seemed to think that Wren was an in on how the Joker's mind worked. That made him eager to take her case, he thought that through Wren he could crack the mystery that was the Clown Prince of Crime.

With a groan, she threw herself into the couch, refusing to look at the doctor as he seated himself opposite her. Like every session for the past month, Wren had opted to the look out the window, taking in the view "Do you think this tendency to see the Joker in strangers, has something to do with self-preservation?"

Great, they weren't getting off this train anytime soon. Wren's eyes flicked to Sharpe "I just know what a killer looks like now. No one looks like the Joker."

The doctor raised an eyebrow "Explain."

She watched as a flock of birds flew past the window, an undulating cloud of black "He had this look in his eyes, this emptiness…"

Trailing off, Wren closed her eyes. Conjuring up the Joker's face, trying her hardest to describe those big empties "Anyone that will or has killed, has hollow eyes, like their soul abandoned them."

That made sense, thankfully. "Joker's eyes aren't empty though, they're fucking gleeful. Shooting me was a real hoot for him."

She gestured to her damaged arm. Sharpe nodded and took notes. "What made you open up about the Joker, normally you shut down when he comes up?"

Shrugging Wren pushed a strand of hair from her eyes" Dunno, your woman hating patient made me think of him…"

The doctor pursed his lips "You think the Joker and Jeremy are the same?"

"What? No, they're only alike because they don't give a shit about the lives of others."

"That's a strong assertion to make of a complete stranger."

"You don't think Jeremy would physically hurt someone?"

"I never said that Wren, but I don't think he's a killer. I too, have seen my share of those."

She shuddered "Agree to disagree."

"How often do you see these killers?"

Wren shrugged "I've seen five so far."

Sharpe blinked "Who are they?"

"Just people in the street, one of them was the barista at the café where I used to get my coffee."

More notes "Used to?"

"I stopped going after I realized what she was."

"So you've been isolating yourself?"

Perhaps, she hadn't gone out clubbing like she used to since the robbery Wren didn't answer, and chose to look at her feet "How are the nightmares?"

She'd been have nightmare flashbacks since the robbery, something that Sharpe had been very concerned about "The same."

The lack of sleep was starting to have an effect of Wren too, she could still drive and snuck naps, but deep sleep was getting difficult. The nightmares were a replay of her getting shot and Joker standing over her, laughing, shooting her over and over again. "Alright, I'll be taking you off the prazosin, instead we'll try a behavioral technique."

Wren leaned forward, and listened. Honestly, this was the only thing worth coming to therapy for, and way to rid herself of the nightmares. "Now, I want you to jot down a brief description of a recent nightmare. If your most recent nightmare is too upsetting to think about, pick another."

He eyed her and waited for a nod of confirmation "Then think of a way to change the nightmare."

She raised an eyebrow "What do I change it to?"

The doctor chuckled "I want you to figure that one out yourself. Think of something that relaxes you, go from there. Once you do that, take a few minutes a day and think about this fixed version of your nightmare. Create a mental image of what you'd rather dream about."

Sharpe's wrist watch sounded, signaling the end of the session. "That's all there is for today Wren, same time next week, then after that, work mandated sessions are over."

Getting up, she made for the door "Of course, you're welcome to continue our sessions after that."

Wren paused and smirked "You offering free therapy sessions Doctor?"

Sharpe chuckled "Unfortunately I can't, the lease on the offices in this building are impossible."

"Then next week will be the last you see of me Sharpe, have a good evening."

With that, Wren closed the door behind her and made for the elevator. As if she'd continue these sessions willingly, She'd have to be mad to take that offer.


	5. Gig

"Wren!"

Tossing her bag into a booth, she glanced up at the stage where her bandmates had gathered. Liliana called out from behind her drum kit "We didn't think you'd show tonight."

Smirking, the vocalist sauntered over "Seriously?"

Kyle, the bassist, smirked "Told her, ya wouldn't miss a gig, even dead, you'd find a way!"

The drummer smiled sheepishly "Dunno, figured with getting shot by the Joker, the media hounding ya, and therapy, you'd forget about us little people."

Stepping onto the stage, Wren rolled her eyes "Oh fuck off Lil."

"Play nice kids!"

Wes, the guitarist, stepped out from back stage. Pushing back his mop of early 2000's emo hair, he eyed Wren. "You sure you're good for tonight?"

Shortening the mic stand down to her height, she snapped "Honestly, if one more person asks me if I'm ok, I'm gonna loose it!

Her bandmates shrunk back a bit. Shaking her head, Wren amended "Guys, common, after the month I've had, I need to blow off steam."

She waved around her injured arm for emphasis, grimacing a little when it gave off a light twinge "I'm fine, really, next week is my last shrink session, after that I'm cleared for work."

Kyle's lips thinned a bit, Lil looked over at Wes, and he raised his eyebrows in response "Just don't have a freak out on stage, alright."

Wren frowned "Ok, first of all, the 'freak out' 2 weeks ago was side effects of the drugs Sharpe put me on, second of all, it wasn't that bad!"

Kyle fixed her with a look "You were clutching your chest and saying your heart was gonna bust outta your mouth. Then you passed out!"

Lil stepped out from behind her drum kit. "Ya started screaming after that… Then ya punched Wes when he tried to put you on the couch. Losing your grip

As if on cue, Wes massaged his jaw, still a bit sore. She felt a bit cornered at this point, sure, they all meant well but being ganged up on wasn't exactly her idea of communicating good intentions. "Guys, I'm fine, Sharpe took me off the pills, so no fainting, I promise."

They all stared at her, as if they'd be able to see the crazy and whether or not she had it under control. She chuckled "And if you guys don't lay the fuck off, I will lose my grip."

Her bandmates seemed to seize up. They actually thought she was serious. "I'm kidding…"

It took a moment, but they seemed to relax. Wes shook himself "Alright, if you say so."

That was the end of that. For a moment, Wren was able to forget all the shit had happened over the last month. It was pure bliss, a hard thing to find when you lived in Gotham. It was 20 minutes before they went on, the bar was packed with people. Wren normally wasn't a fan of making a spectacle of herself, yet somehow, singing to a bunch of strangers was different. People didn't know her, the band would never be famous, so she took solace is blowing off steam this way.

Sure she went out clubbing a few times a month. In those moments, she was part of the crowd. She could blend with the horde of undulating bodies. But somehow that wasn't enough, not mention it was expensive. At least when they sold merch and a couple CDs, Perdition brought in some extra scratch.

"Damn it Wren, could you sit still while I get this eyeliner on!"

Lil pulled away "Christ, why are you doing this Lil?"

She dove back in, nearly jabbing her in the eye with the pencil "Because you've got dark circles under your eyes."

Wren glanced in the mirror, sure enough, bags. Those nightmares weren't doing her any favors. "So?"

Lil put down the liner and applied some concealer on the circles "Can't have our front girl looking like shit."

Wren sneered into the mirror. "Fuck off Lil."

The drummer smirked "You look good with eyeliner though, this grey brings out your eyes, makes them look less… empty. Color of cinnamon… "

That was terrible, she turned and looked at the drummer directly "Now we know why I write the lyrics, cause that right there, was awful."

"Careful, or I'll draw a dick on your forehead with this waterproof eyeliner."

She waved the weapon around threateningly. Wren stuck out her tongue as Lil brushed plum eyeshadow across her lids. "Hey guys, five minutes!"

Kyle poked his head around the corner, only to wolf whistle at the sight of a made up Wren. "Wow, Wren, trying to get into someone's pants tonight!?"

He ducked in time to avoid getting beamed in the head with Lil's eyeshadow pallet. "Go fuck yourself Kyle!"

"Damn it, Wren I spent $30 on that!"

.


	6. Freak Like Me

After a couple minutes of being yelled by Lil for destroying her stupidly expensive eyeshadow pallet, Wren stumbled onto the stage. Her arm was still bandaged and she had put it into a sling so she wouldn't be tempted to move it around while performing. Luckily, Wren was just the singer and didn't have to worry about playing. "2 minutes to curtain assholes!"

Kyle picked up his bass and threw the strap on. "Wren, Freak Like Me?"

With a nod, Wren grabbed the mic and bobbed her head as Wes came roaring in on the guitar, the deep tones of the bass underscoring its brutality. Smirking, Wren dove into the music with no hesitation. Her voice rough, as if there were thorns addling her vocal cords.

"I'm on the train that's pullin the sick and twisted  
Makin the most of the ride before we get arrested  
We're all wasted  
And we're not going home tonight!"

The crowd thundered with glee as she sang, the place with stocked with the usual suspected rejects of the Gotham elite, the grungy art students from the University, a few teenagers that snuck in with fact IDs. Wren swore she saw a couple socialites from the city select. Basically, the audience was made up of the ones who felt like freaks, felt like they were misunderstood, and thrived from said feeling. Before the next verse, she decided to rile up the crowd. "Are we going home folks!?"

There was a collective shout of boos and "No's." Laughing, she tore through their cries.

"Covered in black we lack the social graces  
Just like an animal we crawl out of our cages  
They can't tame us  
So if you're one of us, get on the bus!"

Despite the mass of bandages on her arm, Wren gestured to the band as they joined in on the chorus.

"If you're a freak like me  
Wave your flag!  
If you're a freak like me  
Get off your ass!  
It's our time now  
To let it all hang out  
So shout if you're a freak like me"

All the stress of the past couple months seemed to come crashing down around her. There was something to be said about leaving all your problems on the stage. At long last, Wren felt the tension in her shoulders give, she was relaxed, she was in control. Smiling even wider, she threw herself into the performance.

"You were born to burn  
This ain't no disease you don't need a cure!  
It's our time now to come out!  
If you're a freak like me!  
If you're a freak like me!"

She howled and incorporated a bit of head banging. Placing the mic on the stand, Wren grabbed a lighter from her pocket and snatched a bottle of vodka on the table next to the stage. This was her favorite part. It was dangerous as fuck, but it gave her a hell of a thrill.

"We're underground but we will not surrender  
We're gonna give them something to remember, yeah  
So write your name in gasoline  
And set that shit on fire!"

Wren took in a mouthful of vodka and spewed it across the empty stage, bringing the live flame in front of her mouth. Breathing fire, while her bandmates gave the flames and her a wide birth. Trick done, the singer grabbed her water bottle from its spot next to the mic, and cleared her mouth of the burning sensation of straight vodka.

"If you're a freak like me  
Wave your flag!  
If you're a freak like me  
Get off your ass!  
It's our time now  
To let it all hang out"

Lil grinned over at the singer, glad to see that her friend was finally at ease. Wren wrenched the mic from the stand, she cried out.

"So shout if you're a freak like me  
Don't apologize  
They can't hold you down  
You were born to rise!  
It's our time now to come out!

If you're a freak like me"

Staring into the audience, Wren tore into the next verse, her vocal work on par with Batman's cord shredded voice.

"If you're a freak like me  
Are you a freak like me?  
Are you a freak, like, me?!"

Holding the last word, Wren did her best to pump her injured arm into the air with bursting the stitches. There was a bit of strain, but nothing popped. Stopping, she pulled a face at Kyle, Wes, and Lil.

"So shout if you're a freak like me  
Don't apologize  
They can't hold you down  
You were born to rise!  
It's our time now to come out!  
If you're a freak like me! (if you're a freak)  
If you're a freak like me! (are you a freak?)  
If you're a freak like me! (if you're a freak like me)  
If you're a freak like me!  
If you're a freak like me!"

Taking a couple breaths, she swiped a few beads of sweat from her brow. The seemed less in numbers and not a wild now that the song had ended. Admittedly, Wren had a habit of going into her own world while she performed. It combated stage fright, and freezing up in front of an audience (even one that was made up of less than 100 people), was not something she needed. Canvasing the audience and taking in the energy. Wren was all vigor, but something caused her to faulter. A pair of glassy blue eyes caught her attention, they were manic, they were smiling, a bit of venom green hair swept into their line of vison. They bore into her, and Wren found herself rooted to the stage. "Wren?"

Wes grabbed her shoulder causing the singer to drop the mic, the feedback seemed to snap her out of her trance. Shaking her head, Wren looked back into the audience. No more glassy corpse eyes. Shivering, she pulled away from the bassist and walked off stage. Kyle ran after her "Wren!"

Ignoring him, she grabbed her stuff and made for the exit. "Wren?"

She didn't look up as she shoved her cellphone into her bag. "I gotta go Wes…"

"What!? We're in the middle of a gig! You can't just leave!"

Looking up, Wren raised an eyebrow "You were gonna do the gig without me anyway!"

"We knew you'd show up, common Wren… You can't just leave in the middle of a show. We've got an audience!"  
She snorted "50 people isn't an audience Wes."

Wes stared at her "Wren, seriously what's wrong?"

Throwing on her jacket, she shook her head "I just don't feel well Wes, Lil was right."

Without another word, she turned her back on Wes.

(Author's Note: If you guys would like to listen to the proper song, lookup Freak Like Me by Halestorm, they're amazing. And my apologies for lack of updates, I only just got home from my two week solo trip in Germany)


End file.
